Highlander Protected: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 3)

by Rebecca Preston

  The question was whether it was going to make things terribly awkward. She’d handled her fair share of awkward romantic situations, and was reasonably confident in her ability to keep functioning – after all, she’d put on multiple plays as part of a cast of college theatre students, it was almost impossible to get through that kind of thing without at least a dozen awkward romantic entanglements getting in the way. But was Eamon similarly skilled? Men were such an unpredictable quantity when it came to emotional intelligence. And he was hard to get a read on.

  Well, then, she’d let him set the pace. If he wanted to court her, he could court her. If he wanted to continue as friends and nothing more, that was fine too, though, she felt a bit of a pang at the idea of not being able to further explore their rather explosive physical chemistry – there was a lot of compatibility there that it seemed a shame to waste. And if he wanted to just leave it unidentified and have a great deal of sex with her, before and/or after their quest was done, then that was fine by her too. She felt him stir, and she stirred too, feeling at least a little bit resolved – and heartened by the fact that he pressed a kiss to her cheek before he got up. Gods, it was almost a shame it had been so dark the night before – there was so much more to appreciate in the light of day.

  Marianne made a sound of protest as he pulled his tunic over his head and he turned back to her, looking confused, then pleased as he recognized the source of her objection. But the morning air was bitingly cold, she had to acknowledge, and she bundled herself into her own clothes. There’d be time later.

  She coaxed the fire back to life as he laid out the supplies he’d brought for breakfast, and only then did either of them address the elephant on the moors. “I hope I didnae overstep, last night,” he said, rather formally.

  “Definitely not. No.” The silence felt distinctly awkward. “I, um. Have been interested, for a little while.”

  “I thought ye might be,” he acknowledged, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Me too,” he hastened to add. “Of course. Look at ye.”

  “Thought I was too skinny for you,” she challenged with one eyebrow raised.

  He chuckled ruefully. “I thought that might come back to bite me.”

  “Still could, if you play your cards right.”

  He laughed, and it eased some of the tension in the air.

  After a comfortable pause, she spoke again, taking some of the teasing energy out of her voice. “I know it’s a complicated situation. We’re in the middle of something important. But – I like you.” Medieval Scotland or twenty-first century San Francisco, that sentence always made her feel like an idiot. “So. If you are so inclined. We can – you know.” She shrugged. “Do that again.”

  “Which part?” he enquired, leaning forward a little. “Be as specific and graphic as ye can, please.”

  She laughed, tossed a crust of bread across the fire at him, which he dodged. It felt a little different, packing up the camp and readying the horses with him – something had definitely shifted since the previous morning. But she was glad to notice that the connection between them – the mutual bond they’d formed – seemed intact. Just a little more nuanced.

  And she could stare more openly at his body. That was an added bonus. It was a long day’s ride. The weather, thankfully, had cleared up since the previous grey day – Eamon had been worried about rain, he confessed, but it seemed they’d miss the worst of it so long as they made good time. It was mid-afternoon when something came into view over the horizon, and Eamon confirmed it was the village that stood in the territory of Lord Weatherby and his wife. They’d made it. Apprehension settled in the pit of her stomach as the town grew closer.

  Their time on the road had felt separate, somehow, from what they were doing – like an odd little holiday, a waiting space in between real events. But now the journey was nearly over, and they were facing the reality of what they’d come to confront. Would they find Teodoro? Would she be able to face him, after the trauma of her dreams, the very real fear of what he had done to Elena? She tightened her hands on the reins and the bay made a soft whuffling sound as though to reassure her. She’d just have to be brave, that was all there was to it. Elena was counting on her – not to mention Dolores, and Cora. And Eamon. Surprising, how important he’d become to her.

  The village was a little larger than the one that stood in the shadow of Castle MacLaren, but still very familiar. Eamon led them to the tavern, which was bigger than their local and frequented by more people – including a gaggle of what looked like guards from their uniform. Eamon murmured in her ear that the uniforms belonged to the Weatherbys – the very English lord they were there to visit.

  It didn’t take long to check in with the barman about renting a room – he was happy enough to take their coin, and didn’t even ask before checking Marianne in as Eamon’s wife. He didn’t give anything away, but she could feel the way he was resisting the urge to glance at her, and smiled to herself.

  The room was small, but comfortable enough – just one bed, she noted, quietly. He put their collection of belongings down by the bedside then glanced back at her, letting the silence that had been hovering take its full space.

  “Well, then. We made it.”

  The sun was low in the sky and the warm light of sunset was throwing itself through the small window, illuminating part of his face, but leaving the rest in shadows, and for a moment she couldn’t remember anything at all about why they were there. From the look in his eyes, he was in a similar state of mind. She shook herself mentally. There would be time for that after they learned what they needed to learn.

  “We’d better go see what we can find out before those guards get too drunk to talk, hmm?”

  He nodded, though she noted a flicker of disappointment cross his face with amusement – it mirrored her own precisely. “Aye. Here’s what we’ll say – we’re newlyweds lookin’ to move to the village, finding out if there’s work to be had around the Weatherby keep. Should justify a question or two.”

  She nodded, feeling a familiar buzz settle into her bones. This, she could do. A role to play, a story to tell, improvisation – gods, if she’d ever known that college theatre classes were going to play such a role in her life she’d have paid closer attention. But down the stairs they went, hand in hand that was a nice touch, and clearly an idea they’d both had at the same time, and joined the guards at the bar for a pint of ale.

  Better than the local, she thought to herself.

  Eamon struck up a conversation in that peculiar way that men had, and she quickly realized that all she really needed to do was smile and nod – the guards were more than happy to spill all the castle gossip. She wondered that anyone had any secrets at all – within an hour they knew in detail who was sleeping with who, whose wives and husbands were unfaithful, and which women were secretly or not-so-secretly expecting. And Teodoro came up almost immediately – not by name, but as “that creepy fuck of a priest” which was hard to read any other way. It seemed he’d been at the castle for a few months. He’d brought his own guard along with him, a group of six highly trained mercenaries who kept to themselves and rarely came to the pub. It was good to know that they were definitely in the right place, and that Eamon’s informant had been true to his word, but still, Marianne felt a chill run up her spine to know that she might soon be confronting the man himself.

  The guards didn’t seem to know much else – she and Eamon finished their drinks and said their goodnights. To their credit, the men managed to refrain from making lewd jokes about why a pair of newlyweds might be turning in early, though one of them did chuckle behind his hands. She didn’t blame him, really. She’d be lying if she said that discussing the plan with Eamon was the only reason she wanted to get him alone.

  “We need to know more than those men know,” he said once the door had clicked shut, still pitching his voice low.

  She mirrored his caution – better safe than sorry, after all.

  “Especially ab
out his guards. And we still need to confirm for sure it’s him – the mask’s a problem. But I’d know his face anywhere.”

  “Me too,” she said, trying not to think too much about her dreams. “Is there a way we can get into the castle? The men were saying they’re shorthanded in the kitchens – maybe I could find the headwoman and ask for a place...”

  “Or I could join the guard for a few days, and we wouldn’t have to risk Teodoro seeing your face and thinking Elena is back from the dead,” he countered.

  “The guards said the servants come to town to the tavern for lunch sometimes. Let’s see if we can find one tomorrow, get more information, then decide what to do.”

  “Good plan,” he agreed, glancing at her from under his eyebrows. “So—”

  “We should get some rest,” she said demurely, rising to hang her cloak on the back of the door. She unfastened her hair from the loose braid she’d put it in to keep it off her face on the road, deliberately keeping her back to Eamon – she could feel his eyes on her the way she used to feel a spotlight onstage.

  Slowly, but deliberately, she began unfastening the buttons of her blouse – and this time when he rushed her she was ready for it, turned effortlessly aside at the last minute and flattened him to the wall the way he’d clearly been planning to pin her. They tore into each other, none of the hesitance of the night before slowing their movements. When they were both unclothed, he made a movement toward the bed, but she had other plans – shoved him into the wall hard enough to rattle the rafters, then, hoping she still had the core strength to pull off the maneuver, she put her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist.

  He got the idea soon enough, curling his arms around her and supporting her effortlessly against him. She’d never been with a man tall enough to pull this off without it being awkward – her own long torso and legs were usually too much to wrangle this way, but Eamon’s size and power made it almost easy. With a grunt, he swung them around so her back was supported against the wall and with an easy adjustment, he was inside her – she groaned into his neck and felt him shudder at the sensation.

  The pace they set this time was frantic, no time to wonder about what the neighbors in the room next door must think – well, they’d probably think the newlyweds next door were making the most of their time together, and who could blame them? On reflection, it had been a wonderful idea to turn in early – but funnily enough, neither of them managed to get much sleep.

  Chapter 24

  The sun rose slowly the next morning, and Marianne came to just as lazily. They were both tangled in the blankets of the bed, having well and truly destroyed the carefully folded quilts the night before. Eamon’s great chest was rising and falling peacefully. She indulged herself for just a moment watching his face in the morning light. Unfettered by the tensions and concerns of the rest of the world, he looked oddly younger than his years. She wanted to bring that peace – that unconscious, restful expression – onto his face when he was awake, not just when he was asleep. There were traces of it the night before, in between rounds, as it were, when they lay with each other, exhausted, but not quite sated yet, talking about anything that came to mind, laughing easily over almost nothing…with the prospect of facing Teodoro looming large on the horizon of the day, it was nice to have that pleasant memory to lean on.

  He woke a little while later and caught her gazing at him. Still half-asleep, he looked up at her through his eyelashes, wordlessly reached out to pull her still-drowsy body close to his – and though they were both still half dozing, they weren’t so sleepy that there wasn’t an immediate physical response to that closeness. She supposed it was okay, wrapped in his arms again – after all, they didn’t technically have much to do until midday, when the servants would be down for lunch. Best to keep their mind off the danger until then. This was actually a good idea.

  A little later – well, a lot later, actually – Eamon rose quietly and dressed. Marianne, still blissfully half-asleep after a fairly explosive experience, didn’t notice him sidle out of the room, and fell back into a restful sleep that carried her deeper and deeper. There hadn’t been any nightmares the night before, and the ones that came now were strange, out-of-focus… a huge, bear-like figure kept intervening on her behalf, beating out the flames on her body, roaring and swiping at the figure of Teodoro, who kept disappearing into smoke again, laughing. She struggled to reach for her sword, for a weapon, for anything at all to help her protector against his enemies, but something was restraining her, keeping her arms pinned on either side of her head even though she was standing upright, and she struggled in vain against her bonds as chains of flame began to curl around her protector’s legs, reaching up its body to bring down its arms. And Teodoro began to close in, his face mocking, the blade in his hand shorter than a sword and wickedly sharp – closer, and closer, looming in her vision, the wicked blade edging closer and closer to her face—

  She sat bolt upright at the sound of a slamming door, stifling a scream – only to see Eamon, fully dressed, looking startled and guilty as he came away from the door to their room. The sun was high in the sky out the window – it had to be past noon, or even later. Still riding the adrenaline of the dream and furious that she’d slept in so late, she turned irritably away from Eamon when he reached out to her in concern, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

  “Nightmares again?”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” she demanded. “I thought we were meant to be working together.”

  “I wanted to interrogate the servant myself,” he said, frowning. “In case he’d been in Teodoro’s service long enough to recognize ye.” He hesitated. “And ye looked so peaceful sleepin’, lassie—”

  “Don’t do it again,” she warned him flatly, her eyes narrow and her voice as deadly as she could make it.

  The effect was only slightly spoiled by the fact that she was completely naked – he tried to look solemn as he nodded his agreement, but she could tell that his eyes were itching to stray downwards. Still annoyed that he’d left her behind, she pulled the sheet around her, then reached down to the floor to gather her underthings from where they’d been flung the night before.

  “Well? What did you find out, then?” she demanded.

  He had joined her on the bed, and put a conciliatory hand on her bare leg – she ignored it, still maintaining her anger with him, though her stupid over-eager body was already responding to his presence and the touch of his hand on her leg…

  Get control of yourself, girl.

  “It wasn’t one of Teodoro’s men that I talked to,” he explained, leaving his hand where it was. “But he was a household servant, in dire need of coin for a sick child. Bastard doesn’t pay his staff enough,” he added, resentful. “A servant of Clan MacClaran would never go wanting in a time of need—”

  “Concentrate.”

  “Anyway, once I’d given him what he needed for his child, he was more than willin’ to share the details of the castle with me in much more detail than the guards had. Seems this Teodoro arrived a few months ago at the bequest of Lady Anna, Weatherby’s young wife. A pretty young thing, so it’s said, has him wrapped around her little finger by all accounts.”

  “We take power where we can get it.”

  “Aye. At any rate, it means when she insisted on having a confessor of her own at the castle, he fell over himself to make it happen. So Teodoro came down with his men. But from what the servant said, Lady Anna’s not so thrilled with the outcome. Seems the Father is more interested in spending time in conference with his little squad of mercenaries than studying the Good Book with her. She’s a sweet young thing though, and patient, so it’s not as though she’s going to throw a holy man out – but I wonder what he’s got to discuss with his men.”

  “Once a witch-hunter, always a witch-hunter,” Marianne murmured to herself. “Is it possible he knows something about me?”

  Eamon looked worried. “Not you, necessarily – but t
he MacClarans have had a lot of trouble with witch hunters over the last little while. Lady Cora nearly met her death in the lake by the castle not long ago.”

  Marianne blinked. Cora had been holding out on her. She’d spoken only in generalizations about her own dreams, her own ordeals with the witch hunters – Marianne had had no idea it had gotten so bad.

  “By all accounts, the men that came for her weren’t much of a threat, thankfully,” Eamon was continuing, his hand beginning to trace idle circles on her thigh. “This man is a different story. He’s got a highly trained band of men with him, and I suspect he means to move on the MacClarans. This may not just be an information-gathering mission, Marianne. We need evidence of what they’re planning if we’re to alert the Clan in time – and we may well just need to take these men down before they can strike our home. Are ye ready for that?”

  She nodded firmly, feeling a flare of protectiveness and strength when he called the castle their home. In this strange place, Castle MacClaran was a beacon of warmth and hope in the darkness. She would protect it with all her strength, if she could. “That was always a possibility. I’m ready to fight.”

  He smiled at her, his eyes glowing gold in the light filtering through the window, and she cleared her throat, shifting her leg pointedly under his hand. “I’m still annoyed that you didn’t take me with you to talk to the servant.”

  “How will I make it up to ye?” he murmured, moving his hand a little higher on her thigh – and though her pulse leapt, she turned away deliberately.